#may or may not make this a full fic

[blackwood4stucky]

of spies and sunshine | aspen blackwood

lloyd hansen x nick fowler | gray man x 355 fusion au

masterpost | mini playlist | official series here

🆃 | word count: 750 | complete

The paralytic was slow-acting but Nick could feel it working. The feeling in his lower extremities went first. It was one thing to see his legs, to know that they were there but it was disconcerting not being able to move them without outside influences. Mace and her merry band of idiots had left mere moments before, the promise of his impending abduction before being tossed into a black site still ringing in his ears. He knew he had to act fast but that was clearly impossible with that damn snake venom sinking its fangs into his veins. A short burst of vibration from his back pocket alerted him that his phone was still on his person. Anger burned through him at not being able to use it. His hands twitched in vain as he tried to move them but he had no such luck. So there he sat, alone in his condo, waiting for that supposed low dose of poison to reach his heart. He knew regardless of who was coming to take him away, the reality was that he would be long dead before anyone could do anything about it.

The loud bang of someone kicking a door in startled him, but his body remained in a state of forced calm. He could only blink in confusion when a single man in tac gear and a mask slowly checked the living room with a silenced gun in his hand. He tried to speak but only the gurgling in his throat could be heard. He could only watch as the man then raced toward him before feeling around his thighs. He looked on in horror as the man dropped his gun only to replace it with a handheld device with a thick needle attached. Without any warning, he felt the sharp point pierce its way into his right thigh. He breathed out shallowly in relief as some kind of cool fluid was released into the thick muscle. The movement in his hands came back first before what he knew now was the antidote froze out any and all traces of the venom in his system. Groaning, he keeled over into the mysterious intruder’s embrace. It was then that he registered words being whispered into his ear.

“You’re alright, sunshine. I’ve got you.”

Nick stiffened slightly, he knew that voice. He also knew that only one person dared to call him by that stupid little nickname. “Lloyd?”

“You back with me, sugar?”

Pulling back to look at the man he hadn’t seen in weeks, confusion marred his features. “What are you doing here?”

“You really think I was going to leave you here to be whisked away to fuckin’ Timbuctoo or some shit?” Lloyd bit out. 

“How did you even—

“Know?” Lloyd asked, cutting him off. “Baby, I’ve been bugging your apartments since the last time you left me.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed at the pet name, he was no one’s baby. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, so you keep reminding me sunshine. You could be though, my baby that is, if you stopped fuckin’ around with that bitch and let a real man like me take care of you.”

A laugh bubbled out of his throat at that. Lloyd was a piece of work but for some reason, he just kept crawling back to him. Perhaps it was the third leg the man had hidden in his pants.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing.” Lloyd rolled his eyes. “I warned you about Mace and yet you went after her like a damn fool. She threw me under the bus one time and I kicked her ass to the curb. Haven’t looked back since.”

“I guess this is your way of saying ‘I told you so’?” Nick asked as he flexed his hands before bracing himself against Lloyd to try and stand.

“Of course not, sunshine. Just that we should never share exes again and you should probably kill her on site the next time you see her. Whatever you two had was toxic anyway.”

“I guess now you’re going to try and convince me that we should also be on again,” he said trailing his freshly moveable hand up Lloyd’s chest.

“I thought that was obvious, baby. This on again off again shit is for losers!”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he looked up at Lloyd through his lashes before mumbling against the crazy man’s lips. “I may have missed you a little…”

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Was always worried about the angst of unrequited love, had never realized the sheer amount of comedic potential that it has.

Imagine one-sided Superbat where Clark is fully aware that Bruce has a crush on him but is being his repressed self about it, and Clark is just like, “I’m not gonna touch that :) you’re going to figure that out for yourself, buddy, and in the meantime, I’m just going to have a good time and be best friends with you as you inevitably pull yourself together enough to either fall out of love or to confess :) and I’ll just let you down gently because I care about you :)” but he absolutely 100% is using it to his advantage in the meantime. His puppy dog eyes had never been so effective before. He’s gotten out of Monitor Duty three times in the past month.

[fae-of-prey]

thinking… peter parker + his fashion major girlfriend who designs his spidey suit for him…

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

gang. im doing it. im finally reading TGCF

[dayas]

4 + klonnie, esp if in a TO rewrite! 💞

4 ⧽. kissing in the middle of an argument.

THIS IS SOOOO GAGGY EXACTLLYYY OMG

It’s been awhile since I’ve watched TO so bare with me 🙏🏽

—

New Orleans had become Bonnie Bennett’s home. The last time she’d considered a place home, her grandmother had been alive. It was a long time since then, but she finally felt like she found a place she truly belonged. Naturally, she was absolutely livid about being asked to leave.

“No! Klaus, I am not going anywhere.”

It was pure misfortune that Klaus Mikaelson remained unearthly beautiful even in the fits of rage he currently displayed.

“It’s not up for discussion, little witch.”

He hadn’t lost it, not yet, but she could see the anger burning brightly behind his dark blue eyes.

“The hell it isn’t! You know how important it is for me to be here. The witches, the coven, all of it. I can handle anything that comes my way.”

His laugh was harsh, sardonic.

“Really? Anything? Tell me, darling, can you handle armies of witches, vampires, and werewolves, all coming, ready to tear you limb from limb? Can you handle a relentless onslaught from them at all hours of the day and night, the manifestations of their hatred and hunger for power? Can you handle your so-called old friends returning and joining them, facing off against you because of where you align yourself now? Tell me, my dearest Bonnie, truly, can you handle it?”

“Yes I can!”

She didn’t care that she was shouting now. It felt good to shout, to scream out her emotions. Mystic Falls never gave her enough space to breathe. In New Orleans, she could scream her lungs out and keep coming up for air after if she wished to.

“Just because you don’t care for your own life does not mean others share the sentiment!”

He was shouting too now, and some sick, twisted part of her enjoyed it. She enjoyed the fact that she could anger the Hybrid King, that she alone could produce such heightened emotions from him. Maybe that’s why she’d come closer with every word, and why she held herself so straight as she neared him, yelling out, “Enlighten me, then! What exactly do you care for?”

Klaus’s gaze lit itself on fire. Bonnie’s eyes widened. His hands came up to her face, he pulled her in, and kissed her. She was frozen in shock for a single second. Then, she kissed him back with everything she had in her, clutching him as close as she could to her. They broke apart but he kept her flush against him, his forehead touching hers lightly.

“I’m staying,” Bonnie whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

“Bonnie — ” Klaus murmured, strained.

“No. We rule here. They will not chase us out.” She took his hand carefully, placing it between them to rest on her stomach. His fingers caressed the fabric, brushing back and forth over it.

“If they come for one of us, they are coming for all of us now.” She felt his sigh stir her hair, his palm flattening out against her belly.

“Then we will raze them all to the ground.”

That smile she loved, maniacal and bloodthirsty, rose into his lips.

Her own followed with it.

[just-french-me-up]

If you'd still like Dreamling kiss prompts, how about 7 or 17?

@martybaker asked : Hello, your fics are so lovely! May I humbly request ‘A kiss to shut them up’ if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈 @anonymous asked : Thoughts on dreamling 7 or 17 (to shut them up or to distract - maybe even both at once?) for the kiss prompts?

We're shutting him up, yall! This is a Retired!Dream one, in which Dream struggles with the human body and human condition, and can't see how he can measure up to his old self in Hob's eyes. Angsty you say? Deceivingly horny I raise you! I kept this sorta M rated but... hey if there's more to come *winkwink* who knows?

The human body was a curious thing. It required constant attention, fluids, fuel, maintenance, care. And yet it was so... limiting. Morpheus could still remember how it felt, to think of a place and feel the ground shift under his feet without ever having to move. There had been no hunger then. No thirst. No itching, for his skin had never had the notion that it could be too dry.

If he had ever felt those things, it had been because he had chosen to.

Now the world imposed itself to him, there wasn't much of a choice.

Urges baffled him the most. The dryness coating his mouth on a particularly hot day, his mind conjuring up images of cold, condensation-weeping bottles. The drowsiness taking hold of him after dinner, weighing on his eyelids. The burning, devouring heat flaring in his abdomen as Hob would step out of the shower, a towel lazily tied around his hips, the line of hair trailing down his navel guiding Morpheus' gaze downwards.

It was a strange thing, to be overcome by such sensations. An infuriating thing, really. He ought to be able to resist them. He had been able to resist them, once, to ignore them, dismiss them into nothing if he so chose. How vexing it was, to be a creature of wants and needs, when your existence had been nothing but careful control.

He would not tell Hob, but he could not help but feel... lesser. How clever could his mind be, now that he only had access to his own? How good could his hands be, he who had been able to breathe life into dream clay, fashion lands and castles with a single thought? How pleasing could his touch be, now that he was barred from his lover's unconscious? How could he compare to who and what he had been, once?

They had not made love ever since his encounter with the Kindly Ones. Hob had never pushed, reading Morpheus far better than Morpheus ever could, now. There had been times, here and there, when Morpheus had thought they would, with lingering kisses growing deeper, embraces in bed tighter, but something had held him back. Some bitter gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. Yet another thing he could not seem to control.

Yet he wanted. Desperately, frustratingly so. The most mundane things would strike him as the most erotic sights he could fathom. Hob drinking his coffee in the morning, his Adam's apple bobbing as he'd swallow. Hob reading the day's papers, his gaze intent, focused. Hob reaching up to grab this or that from a cupboard, his shirt riding up and showing his navel, while his tired pajama bottoms hung from his hips, revealing the slight dips there, a hint of hair...

Morpheus' body would betray him often, subjecting him to fantasies and erections that, much like the rest, he held little control over. Unlike food, lust was a hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It only grew.

If Hob had ever caught him staring, he never said anything. Instead, he was highly skilled at noticing when Morpheus' mind would start spinning on itself, feeding the loop of existential dread looming over him. He had taken to giving Morpheus tasks, then, something to focus on. Although it would not quite clear the storm, it muffled it somewhat.

Perhaps he'd sensed another one of Morpheus' spirals that night, when his voice rose from the bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks! Love? Might need a hand here."

As he stepped inside the bedroom, Morpheus found Hob standing by the mirror, struggling with his button-up. He flashed a quick contrite smile at him, emphatically tugging at the fabric.

"Can't manage to button those buggers off," he explained.

"Allow me."

The human condition was one thing, but buttons he could handle. Morpheus' touch was methodical, surgical almost, as he focused on the task at hand, yet three buttons later, he could not help but feel his focus slip. He could feel Hob's warmth under his fingertips. His heartbeat. As he breathed in, Hob's scent filled his lungs, distracting him further. By the time he was done with the shirt, his mind had gone elsewhere.

Hob wore an undershirt, a thin, almost see-through thing. It required barely any effort to see his chest in spite of the fabric. Morpheus' eyes trailed down, heat flushing his cheeks. Mindlessly, his thumb traced the line of hair down Hob's abdomen, his mouth filled with want. He could feel hot breath against his lips. Humans were not meant to withstand such hunger.

They were kissing before Morpheus could articulate another thought, Hob's mouth warm and soft against his, the coarse brush of his stubble adding fuel to the fire overtaking him. No doubt Hob had meant for this to be tender, but Morpheus was famished, taking, and taking, and taking all that was offered until his lungs might explode. He found himself gasping against Hob, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Hey," Hob whispered, gentle to a fault. "It's okay. There's no rush."

Morpheus swallowed hard, feverishly catching his breath. Hob's palm was invitingly cool against his cheek.

"I will keep," he continued. "We don't have to―"

"I want to," Morpheus rasped, weeks of frustration pushing the words out of him. "I want you. I just―"

"Just what?"

The patience in his voice was the lifeline Morpheus held onto as he sighed, embarrassment flooding through him.

"This form, it feels... finite. Flawed. Lacking."

Fallible, he did not say. He watched as Hob's eyes grew round, ridicule joining embarrassment.

"Duck―"

"I am not as I once was," he continued, overcome with the need to justify himself. "I am no longer suited to anticipate your every want. I can not satisfy you to the degree I once could. Everything I have to offer is bound to disappoint in comparison."

Hob's stare felt heavy, too heavy for Morpheus to hold, but as he looked away, Hob took his chin between his fingers, directing his gaze back to him.

"Love, I―. Sex is not about making some kind of... of ranking."

"Your unconscious would rank it, regardless."

"Fuck my unconscious. It's my conscious self who wants you, magic dick or not."

The corners of Hob's mouth twitched at his own joke, but seriousness soon took over.

"I love you," he said, prompting Morpheus to look away again. "I love you. I would love you Endless, I would love you human, I would love you if you were a tentacled monster and hell, you've been that before if you'd recall!"

Morpheus fought back the smile creeping up on his lips.

"I never cared how we'd fuck. Well, I did, but― I did because it was you. I wanted to be with you. I still do."

Hob sighed, and they stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"At least now we know that mind of yours is well and truly yours and not a Dream of the Endless exclusive."

"An unfortunate discovery."

Hob's hand settled on Morpheus' waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt.

"I do want you," he said. "Whenever you're ready. If ever. But I don't want you holding back because you've convinced yourself I may not enjoy it well enough, according to some cosmic standard you've set for yourself."

Morpheus nodded slowly, his own thumb back to tracing the happy trail on Hob's stomach.

"I have always found you pleasing enough, after all," he dared, shooting a tentative look at Hob. "As human as you are."

Hob made a face, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Your compliments need work, duck. But I do think there's a silver lining to this whole human condition you are overlooking."

"Is that so?"

Hob smirked at him, fully conscious of how devilishly handsome that made him. He had had, after all, centuries to hone those skills. How long would it take him?

"You no longer have access to my unconscious, right?"

"I do not."

"Which means you can no longer anticipate my every want, as you said."

Now that was rubbing salt into the wound.

"Yes," he conceded with a frown.

"Well imagine how arousing it is, my love," Hob said, his eyes darker by the second, "to be able to surprise you."

A warm shiver went down Morpheus' spine, sending his pulse into a frantic race. He swallowed thickly, holding Hob's gaze.

"How arousing?"

"Very. Cock-achingly, one might say."

Morpheus glanced down, finding Hob's trousers tight, his hard cock pressing against the fabric, making his knees weak. The human body truly was weak in the most delicious way.

"I could dare you to surprise me," he teased back, his breathing loud in his ears.

"You could."

Gods, that mouth of his, Morpheus was quite certain he could be undone from that tone alone. But still.

"But should you find me displeasing, you ought to―"

The rest of his words were swallowed into a kiss, unheard and discarded, replaced by tender sighs and wanting hands, and after a while, Morpheus found he'd forgotten what they even were, his mind blissfully blank save for pleasure.

The human body was a curious thing. A highly pleasing thing, at times.

Send me a kissing prompt?

[muirmarie]

Me: I joke about writing the same McCoy centric story over and over again in different ways

Me: and like. I love doing it and imma keep doing it because it makes me happy.

Me: but also. I do sometimes wonder if it's like. A little Much.

Me: like maybe I should branch out or something

Me: [reads another fundamental and extremely insulting misread of McCoy's character by someone who is clearly making a Choice to cast McCoy as the villain, because they have to get him out of the way of spirk, because they're too???? idk immature??? to realize that even when you're in a relationship with one person, other ppl can and SHOULD still be important to you]

Me: lmao I hope I AM too much actually!!!! I hope it is 100% obnoxious how much I love that doctor!!!!! Time to write more versions of the same story of McCoy being forced to realize that he is loved and cared for!!!!!!

Me: I KNOW MY NICHE AND IMMA DIE IN THAT NICHE, THANKS

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 20

PREVIOUS

FF had watched more than a few self-defense videos when he believed that Andrew Minyard was looking for a dark alley to stab him in. He had learned how to turn the attacker’s momentum against them. Had learned about disarming the person trying to stab him.

He’d even had Matt teach him a few punches claiming that it was for the dust-ups that tended to happen on the court.

He, naturally, does not use any of that knowledge because his mind immediately reverts into Lizard panic mode the moment Jackson Plank takes another step forward with a knife (HUGE. Is it wild that he is thinking about Crocodile Dundee right now?)

“If you come quietly you won’t get hurt.” Jackson says and he reverts to who he is as a person and he freezes. His bravery was used up maybe it was only ever tied to great pump up songs and now in the silence of the alley he is back to being Stone-Faced Smith.

“You’re going to dial up Wesninski and if you don’t say EXACTLY what I tell you to then I’m going to have you SING in agony.”

Y’know in that moment he stops thinking about Crocodile Dundee.

He thinks about a movie that is far more ingrained in his mind than any number of self-defense videos or one-off lessons with Matthew Boyd where he’d been trying not to flinch. A movie he had watched in better days with his family and had been a favorite of his Grandma’s (and his).

He thinks about Miss Congeniality.

Sandra Bullock as Gracie Hart has taught him everything he ever truly needs to know when he takes a step back and Jackson comes at him.

He strikes right at Jackson’s nose with the palm of his hand.

“SON OF A-“

The knife is dropped and FF kicks it under a dumpster.

FF grabs the single weapon he has on his person.

The McDonald’s Megamind Happy Meal Light Effects Brainbot.

He points the LED light straight at Jackson’s eyes and just like Aaron in the car on the way back, “Shit, that’s bright!” And now completely blinded by a combination of watery eyes and LED McDonald’s toy he proceeds to SING just as Gracie Hart had taught him.

S - Solar Plexus. He punches Jackson there as hard as he can.

I - Instep. He smashes his booted foot down on the inside of Jackson’s shoes (who the fuck wears LOAFERS to a kidnapping?)

N - Nose. He’d feel bad about hitting it again if Jackson wasn’t y’know…a hitman out to hurt Captain Neil.

G - Groin. He may have to give himself just half a second to apologize to all of mankind for what he is about to do. His step brothers had definitely kicked him in the groin plenty of times to try and get a reaction. It’s an art to not let anyone know that your ball has retreated up into lower intestine. He kicks Jackson as hard as he can (collegiate athlete) with the boots that Nicky had let him borrow. He is right on target with the toe of his shoes.

Jackson goes down.

The next thing he does is not something Gracie Hart had taught him but does still feel like the right thing to do in this situation. He kicks Jackson in the head and the man goes limp.

If FF throws both hands up in the air and lets out a “I am Miss Congeniality!” Victory cry into the alleyway well no one is around or awake to know that.

He feels like he deserves a sash and a crown and some flowers.

He looks down at Jackson and then over at the van the man had hopped out of. He was definitely PLANNING on kidnapping Captain Neil so he probably has like…some kind of restraint?

Well, better to completely subdue this guy before he tries to figure out the game plan for Romero. Wait, what’s that next to the Crocodile Dundee knife, are those...?

***

Roland is calling for a second time.

Andrew had let it go to voicemail the first time. It was usually Roland complaining about Nicky, Aaron, or Kevin doing something exceptionally stupid in their inebriated states. They have a system. Roland will call and leave a voicemail detailing the dumb shit his family has gotten up to and then he’ll let it go.

If Roland calls twice then there’s an issue.

Arm still around Neil’s shoulders he answers the phone, “What.” He asks.

“You need to help your new friend. There’s some guy following him, he’s armed and dangerous and looking for someone to grab to get Neil’s attention. He tried to lead the guy outside but he’s standing watching it for now so there might have already been someone waiting?” Roland gets out in a rush and Andrew is up and moving towards the stairs even as he’s closing the phone to disconnect the call.

Neil, of course, is right on his heels. “What is it? Did something happen?” Neil asks and they are up the stairs and pushing past Frank and his stupid pineapple shirt. Andrew spots Nicky and he spots Aaron.

“Get Nicky and Aaron somewhere safe. I need to go help Smith with something.” He says because whoever this is wants Neil and Andrew will not let Neil get within grabbing distance and won’t mention it. Neil, blessedly, does what Andrew asks without question.

Andrew scans the crowd and finds a man whose gaze goes between his phone and the back door.

A face that Andrew had memorized.

One of Nathan’s surviving men.

In the same Zip Code as Neil.

And that man has the audacity to still be breathing.

He looks and Nicky and Aaron (drunk, drugged, and useless because Andrew had wanted them to be) are with Neil and Roland is directing them to the backroom.

Andrew goes out the alley and can feel Romero’s eyes on him.

He’s prepared for a lot of things to see out in that alley. He’s angry that FF hadn’t just come down and grabbed him and Neil (he does not need TWO martyrs) and he wants to know what the fuck FF was thinking (or if he was thinking at all). Even with that anger he does not wish to see FF’s blood spilled all over an alleyway because Andrew’s family needed to be protected and FF was the only one sober enough and aware enough to do it.

He knows what Nathan’s men are capable of.

Knows that Romero was one of Nathan’s best so if there is someone out in the alleyway then it’s likely one of his other bests.

FF doesn’t even know how to use a knife. He had asked and FF had firmly declined every time Andrew had brought it up after the first fainting incident. “I’m not interested in learning that. No.” Had been the standard response.

He knew FF had at least taken a lesson or two from Boyd on throwing a punch considering the one he shot out a week ago when a Striker came at him after the third time FF intercepted a pass.

Still, Andrew had not anticipated coming out into the alleyway and finding an unharmed FF securing an unconscious Jackson Plank’s arms behind his back with fuzzy handcuffs.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asks and FF looks up at him with a flush on his cheeks.

“It’s not my fault this is a weird sex alleyway! They’re the first thing I found on my way over to the van to look for actual restraints.” FF says immediately and Andrew almost laughs at the insanity of it. “Wait, where’s Captain Neil?” FF looks around nervously.

“He’s with Aaron and Nicky in the backroom. Roland gave me your S.O.S.” Andrew says even as he quickly makes his way away from the door and towards FF. “Romero is watching the door. Let’s give him a reason to come out.” He says going over to Jackson and when he rolls the man over he raises an eyebrow at the piss stain on his pants and the blood dripping down his nose.

He looks to FF who resolutely does not look back at him.

It’s a story he’ll get out of his friend eventually. Looks like FF didn’t really need those knife lessons. Something settles a bit more in Andrew, it’s nice to have someone else in their group that could handle themselves in a fight.

Andrew finds a phone and FF rolls Jackson back onto his stomach, “He could choke on his own blood.” He shrugs and Andrew wouldn’t care if Jackson choked on his own blood in fuzzy handcuffs in a back alley but he can understand FF not wanting a murder charge.

Andrew looks at the phone and sees the the swipe pattern clear as day. It takes him two tries to get the order right but then Jackson’s phone is available for him to get over to the texting app.

The texts he reads there make him angry. There were a lot of plans on what the two of them were going to do to Neil before his body was offered up to a different crime family to show that Romero and Jackson had no loyalty left to the Wesninski line.

He types out a text to Romero that will have the jackass come out thinking everything had gone well and they had two hostages. He looks over to FF, “You ready for round two?” He asks.

“There isn’t a tap out option right?” FF asks and Andrew laughs at the joke.

Always cool under pressure it seems.

“No.”

“Then yeah, I guess just hit send.” FF says with a shrug.

Andrew does just that.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

Didn’t wanna leave ya’ll hanging on that particular cliffhanger for too long ;)

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson​ @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio​ @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe​ @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it  right but you didn’t  get a notification there might be something  switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[rosesofenvy]

@potato-lord-but-not I’m working on a few edits of the boys but this thought has had me in a chokehold since I heard the song snippet

Post it's based on!

Fic I wrote for this HERE!

[mania-sama]

oikawa always knew what he wanted to be when he grew up. from the moment he saw jose blanco when they were seven years old, he became certain that he would be a professional player. before he was old enough to understand how long it would take or how much energy it would require, oikawa was telling iwaizumi what number jersey he would wear on the national team.

iwaizumi loved volleyball. there was no question about it; he loved the weight against his fingers as he lightly tossed it in the air. he loved the green and brown bruises littering his arms, proving he fought and played well. he loved crouching on the court with five other people, waiting in bated breath to score the next point. he loved the sound the ball made when he spiked it to the ground with enough power to shake the net. he loved springing in the air and diving to the ground.

he loved watching his teammates glow with pride at every point earned, at every win. he loved having support during the hard losses. he loved oikawa, who threw himself so deeply into the sport that it made iwaizumi try that much harder, practice that much longer, want to win that much more.

but, he always knew his love came at a price.

he could see himself playing professionally. he knew that he'd only want to do it if oikawa would be on the court with him. he knew he was only as good as he was when the best high school setter in miyagi brought out his talents. he knew that, at the end of the day, his drive to be an Olympic athlete was crutched by his best friend.

oikawa had developed it alone, separate from iwaizumi. iwaizumi could recognize that, and that was what set them apart.

iwaizumi didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. he threw around ideas in his head, every now and then. he knew he couldn't do a corporate job. he'd seen the way men fell asleep in bushes and in shops, never making it home, then waking up again to return to where they worked. it sounded like hell and misery, so he threw it out immediately. he supposed he wouldn't mind traveling the world, but he didn't know where he'd get the funds for that. he didn't care much for history or archaelogy, and those master's and phd's would be what would get him places. he even settled on the military for a time, if he really couldn't figure what he wanted from life by the time he graduated.

then, like dominos, everything began to fall into place. it started like this:

in his third year of middle school, he injured his wrist. he had to see the athletic trainer twice a week, for those were the days the trainer was available to assist the volleyball clubs. his mother was a nurse, so she made sure he kept up with his ice and stretches at home. he cared for himself and the trainer cared for him, coaching him through certain workouts and tracking his progress on a clipboard. he admired the trainer for the first time in his life. not because he was caring for iwaizumi specifically, but because iwaizumi was seeing all of it work. the ice, the workouts, the way his wrist gradually heals until he feels no pain anymore. he found himself curious about the clipboard, though he never asked.

oikawa overworked his ankle and twisted it in their first year of high school. iwaizumi's injury had been minor, but oikawa's was considerably worse. he limped as he walked, and iwaizumi went online and nearly keeled over when the results told him that oikawa would die in the next twenty-four days, that his ankle would never heal properly. mother iwaizumi was far more rational, and their trainer was available four of the five days of the work week, so oikawa was functionally okay. it didn't stop bothering iwaizumi, though. he was by oikawa's side the whole time despite their new friends', matsukawa and hanamaki, teasing. when oikawa allowed him, he examined the twisted ankle, pressing his fingers against the bone, carefully tracing the slightly discolored skin.

he started volunteering at the hospital when he could, though he found he didn't enjoy the atmosphere much. he saw charts, though. he started to get an idea of what was on the paper on the clipboard. that, he enjoyed. he enjoyed seeing patients walk away with grins at good news, and he eavesdropped on nurses and doctors discussing diagnoses he didn't fully understand. his favorites were the ones of athletes, good or bad. shin splints, they said with relief. tendonitis. dislocation. a torn acl, they gasped after coming out of a screaming girl's room.

someone caught wind of his volunteering. during a training camp, a fidgeting player from a different team corners him outside. he asked if iwaizumi had anything, anything, anything at all, though preferably xanax. please, man, he begged. i know you work at a hospital. i'll pay you back. i just- i think somebody stole mine out of my bag a while ago. i can't get through this weekend. hook me up? iwaizumi denied him, told him to get help, told a trusted adult because although he knew it was "uncool" and he was a "snitch", the kid was shaking and knee-deep in drug addiction, and iwaizumi couldn't ignore it no matter how hard he tried. his skin burned from where the guy grabbed him to plead. his tongue was dry from when he tried to gently let him down the first time. his head hurts from the idea betraying his peers, even though he knew they would cover his ass if he had alcohol on him.

they lose to shiratorizawa for the second time in high school, and oikawa tried to get himself another overworked limb. iwaizumi shouted, and shouted, and shouted, and he dragged oikawa out of the gym more nights than not. he sat with him when oikawa was determined to give himself dry-eye from watching volleyball matches all hours of the day. he kept oikawa going.

that addict player died over an overdose over the summer, the news hitting him at the same time as the rest of the miyagi volleyball community. and he started to understand. he understood the way the kid - for though he was older than iwaizumi, he was still just a kid - would react slowly to block the ball, or how he would twitch before his serve. he understood the first time oikawa hurt his ankle, how it had been nothing like iwaizumi’s wrist injury, or how taking xanax during a training camp was nothing like camping out in a basement with a couple of friends and a case of cheap liquor store beer.

on the first full day back to school in their second year, hanamaki pulled iwaizumi aside and said that matsukawa had passed out briefly on the train ride over. iwaizumi didn't know what to do, necessarily, or what it could mean that matsukawa passed out for seemingly no reason, but he decided to keep an eye out. he watched him at practice. watched the way he was slow to block, blinking blearily, swaying on his feet. it could be sleep deprivation, but matsukawa had said he wasn't tired. his second thought was of that player the year prior. he watched, and as much as it pained him, he waited. he waited until they could all get ramen together, because for one reason or another matsukawa found a reason to bail out of after-school food runs. when matsukawa got up to use the bathroom after finishing his food, iwaizuimi waited one, two, three, ten seconds to follow, similarly excusing himself. he listened to matsukawa heave and wretch, and he sat there until matsukawa came out, one hand hastily wiping his mouth. he froze when he saw iwaizumi, and it must've been something on his face, must've been the memory of how he failed to help a kid who was now six feet underground, because matsukawa broke down into tears. i can't stop. i can't, he said. i need to do this to be better at volleyball. i can't gain more weight. it'll bring me down. don't make me stop.

iwaizumi made him do one thing: see the athletic trainer. he got the athletic trainer to give them advice on a diet that would both build muscle and increase their overall health. iwaizumi sent matsukawa on his way with a detailed regimen, but he himself stayed behind with the trainer. he asked, doing his best to remain neutral: which do you think is more important? mental health or physical injuries?

after a while of deliberation, he got received the trainers honest answer. physical injuries. athletes can get severely stressed and disordered after even a minor injury.

iwaizumi nodded. how do i become an athletic trainer?

go to school, the trainer said, smiling. study hard.

taking that to heart, he left. he left with a plan: to go to university, study hard, and write a paper proving that trainer wrong. his paper would be on the psychology behind sports injuries, how its the state of an athelete's mental health that causes injuries. he would then work as an athletic trainer, and he wouldn't let a kid like oikawa overwork themselves, or kids like that player accost underclassmen and overdose, or kids like matsukawa avoid food and expel what little they consumed. because they all wanted one thing. to play better, to be better. and iwaizumi wanted to be there for them, to tell them that a game wasn't worth their lives.

he wanted to be there for the middle school kid with a wrist injury, whos only wish was to keep playing with his best friend.

iwaizumi studied hard. he researched and researched, and he kept volunteering at the hospital even though he hated the smell of sterile rooms and the miserable faces of interns and residents and the floor that housed most of the terminally ill. he shadowed the trainer as they worked with other seijoh clubs when he had the time. he worked, and he cared for oikawa and his various discreet attempts at overworking himself to death.

in his third year of high school, an acceptance letter from the university of california, his top choice of school, arrives at his front door with a full-ride scholarship.

[baeshijima]

bitches will still be crying over the high-cloud quintet at 2 am months later and never get over them

its me. im bitches.

[blackwood4stucky]

i scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream | aspen blackwood

steve rogers x james "bucky" barnes | mcu

masterpost | mini playlist

🆃 | word count: 1,110 | complete

tags: quiet horror, omegaverse, bucky-centric

The members of the Rogers family were unpacking their boxes, two rented U-Hauls sitting in front of their new house, when Bucky first heard it, the ice cream song playing from the truck down the street. It was a familiar little jingle, one he had heard for many years where he used to live. Such a tune usually brought joy, everyone loves ice cream.

It was late October by the time the Rogers relocated to a new community in East End, New Hampshire. Their neighbors were getting into the spirit of Halloween what with all the decorations strewn about the block. Fake webs and spiders covered many front lawns while homemade ghosts and ghouls blew in the cool autumn winds. It seemed that everyone in the community was participating from the sheer amount of laughter that could be heard all around them. Bucky decided then that they all would have to participate as well, how could they not? It was his favorite time of the year, family tradition dictated that they celebrate and he would not forsake that ritual. If only they could get everything done in a timely fashion. Looking at his little family though, he could see that his alpha and their daughter were worn out. Even their cat, Alpine, was lying about in the grass. Perhaps it was a good time to pause and take a break now that the ice cream truck was there. He had just begun digging his hands around in his pocket for change when little Sarah tugged on his pant leg.

“Mommy, why is everyone leaving?” His daughter’s voice sounded so small even though he knew Sarah’s curiosity was so big, the little girl could get into so much mischief if left to her own devices.

Glancing up, Bucky saw that Sarah was right though. Their new neighbors had all but dropped their various decorations to scramble for the doors. Even the pets knew the drill. With his heightened hearing, he could hear the telltale sound of locking mechanisms and whispers coming from inside of the houses on the block. Perturbed, but not one to stick around for danger, Bucky followed suit and beckoned for his husband, Steve, and little Sarah to do the same. Taking whatever they held in their hands, the Rogers family hastily went inside and closed their doors, making sure the deadbolt was securely in place. The song from the ice cream truck grew louder and louder, the pitch taking on a strange note at the end, one that caused a chill to run down Bucky’s spine. It wasn’t until a pained yelp rang out a moment later that they all realized Alpine was still outside.

Ever since that day, life went on as normal for rest of the members of the East End community. Bucky, on the other hand, developed trust issues. Not a single one of their new neighbors batted an eye when he and Steve asked what was up with the ice cream truck, when they questioned their new neighbors on the whereabouts of their beloved pet. All anyone ever had to say on the matter was when the ice cream song plays, you best get inside, don’t come out until it’s over, even then don’t come out until the day is over. If you’re caught outside when the song plays, you best pray for it to be over soon. For if you see the heads, if you see the eyes, it’s over. It’s over, it’s over for you.

Bucky had begun to question their decision to move to East End then. All the research he put into finding this community didn’t seem to be yielding the results it should have. All the reviews he read boasted of its exclusivity and safety for all sorts of people. All the interviews he and Steve had gone through were a testament to how serious East End appeared to take its application process. It all was supposed to result in a sanctuary. He knew his little family was different. Heightened senses, enhanced agility, and a less than stellar diet certainly didn’t make it easy for them to settle down. This was supposed to be their big break. He didn’t know how wrong he was.

A few weeks later, Bucky, Steve, and Sarah were enjoying the cool play day in breeze on their front lawn, when they heard it, the ice cream song playing from the truck down the street. Bucky and Steve were wary but gathered what was immediately around them to head inside.

“Excuse me.” A little voice called out from behind Bucky. “I missed you last time. May I have some ice cream, please?”

Turning around, Bucky saw their daughter standing in front of the ice cream truck with her little hand outstretched. His eyes widened when he got a good look at the truck. It was all white with a strange black symbol painted on the side facing their home, a sea creature with multiple bulbous heads and tentacles. To his utter horror, a familiar pale red light had begun to shine through the window on the driver’s side. It was one that bought horrific memories from his past, flashes of torture and pain.

“Sarah, get away from that truck!” Bucky’s body moved like a flash before he could even issue it a command, fear gripping his heart as he snatched the child up from the edge of the sidewalk. It was only when something cold and tight gripped at his leg as it latched onto his skin, that he realized his grave mistake. “Take her and get inside, lock the doors!”

“No! Not without you!” Steve had materialized at his side to take Sarah into his arms but he refused to leave. “I won’t leave you, not again.”

“You have to!” He groaned in pain and looked down at his leg, it was wrapped in some sort of chain with barbs that dug into his flesh holding him in place. There was no way he would let them get ahold of his entire family, there was no way in hell he would give Hydra a real win. Bucky’s fear was to be ripped from his daughter, from Steve, his husband and mate. It was his greatest fear to be returned back into the clutches of those that created monsters like him and Steve. All the while, that ice cream truck played its haunting song. It tormented him as he prayed for a swift end that he knew would never come. The first time the Rogers family heard the ice cream song, they lost their pet. The second time they heard it, the Rogers family lost Bucky.

[lgwilt]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thanks for the tags @insert-witty-user-name-here, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening and @blackbirdofasgard!

A few sentences from my angsty time slipping wip (which is slowly merging with another wip to become an uncontrollable all-consuming entity).

--

Loki clenched his jaw as the aftershocks reverberated through his body, every nerve ending alight with pain. He’d been yanked from outside R&A and pushed back again so fast his head was spinning, the corridor a bewildering blur of subterranean blues and bilious greens. 

“You’re ok, Loki—just relax, take a breath. It’s gonna be ok…” 

Loki wanted to ask how he could possibly be expected to “relax” when he might start time slipping again at literally any moment (a deceptively innocuous way to describe the experience of being violently pulled in a million different directions at once, stretched and scattered and compressed again, ripped from reality atom-by-atom and reconstituted in the blink of an eye), but right now he didn’t trust himself to speak, let alone form coherent sentences.

“C’mon,” Mobius murmured, taking hold of his arm and gently but firmly steering him down the snaking corridor. “There’s a spare office down here somewhere, just a few more steps…”

--

Tagging @mirilyawrites @dewdropreader @starport-seven-five and very open invitation anyone else who sees this, for this week or next - I love reading these tantalising snippets 💚

[donkey-hyuck]

UNDERSTAND:: jjh

idol!au | uni student!reader | strangers-2-lovers!au | fluff

“maybe we could try it if you let me

take you by the hand

you’re the only one who understands” - keshi

TW: food | profanity | lowercase letters

————

~ the night had shimmied it’s way to cover the now dark sky. you and your friends were out at some seven-eleven down the suburban street, taking a break from studying and watching all of the boys play their late night games on the court.

your friends’ lover had invited the two of you to watch him and his teammates play for a bit before going back to stuff your brain of information that may or may not pique your interest.

the two of you had now been sitting on one of the old beat-up benches with your ice cream slowly melting due to the humidity of the hot summer air.

all of the boys were goofing off and constantly teasing each other and their laughs (as well as you and your friends’) echoed through the open air. however the laughing came to a brief hault when a group of about four men asked to join a game. to which the boys boisterously agreed.

the game was neck and neck. not that you were keeping count, your friend was actually doing it for them but you knew they were tied. you could feel it. and by the time someone had finally scored a point (it was a three pointer by the group of four men), everyone was wiping their sweat and congratulating them with ‘good game.’

the group of men had left their belongings on the bench the two of you were sitting on. they were all handsome, that was for sure. even in their sweaty glory. and you hadn’t realized you were staring until you felt a slight puncture in your ribs from your friend.

“hi,” said the first, who appeared to have dimples painting his already beautiful face. the man had told his friends that he would catch up with them later as he turned back to you with his undivided attention.

“hi,” you awkwardly smiled back, looking at your friend who told you she was going with the boys.

the night long carried on, and the summer night breeze felt just perfect in a moment like this. you had learned the man’s name was yoon-oh (he prefaced that he preferred jaehyun, though.)

the conversation which the two of you were having was completely and utterly random. laughs and little bits of teasing were shared, and you don’t know if it’s because of the summer air or because you had been locked up in your dorm for the past couple of days studying for your finals, but something flickered. maybe not physically but emotionally, something was there and you knew you both felt it.

unfortunately all good things must come to an end. when jaehyun had received a phone call from his manager did your encounter finally come to an end.

“oh my god, it’s already one in the morning!” he laughed, “have we really been talking for that long?”

you took out your phone from your back pocket to confirm the time. and it was almost two in the morning. you both laughed out loud, too shocked that you got carried away in your conversation that really was not important. but it was important to you, and you hoped he felt the same way.

“when can i see you again?” he asked, pupils dilated as he took in everything he could of you.

“any time you want, really,” you replied, as he took your phone out of your hand and put his number in your contacts list.

“i’ll call you,” you nodded at his words as he walks further and further away. you can feel the freedom walking away with him.

—

every encounter with yoon-oh has been an absolute dream. he makes you feel like you again. he makes you feel free and he makes you feel incredibly happy. and he can say the same thing about you. everyone, even the makeup artists, can tell that his mood had just been uplifted. although they, of course, don’t know the reason behind it. they also don’t know that the reason is a person— you— rather than an item.

and you remember the exact moment.

he held you close, under the stars as the condensation escapes your noses. and this moment feels different. it feels raw. you’re facing him now, and he can see all the stars reflecting in your gorgeous eyes. he laughs, looking at the ground, not believing that he’s doing this now.

“what’s wrong?” you chuckle, gaining his attention back.

“i thought i’d be too scared to ever tell you this. and to be honest, i’m still shitting my pants right now. you make me feel nervous and calm all at the same time.”

you’re confused on where he’s going with this. he’s a great friend, but friends don’t hang out the way you two do, do they? friends don’t look at each other the way you two do.

he lets out a sigh before taking a step closer and shoving his sweaty hands in his coat pocket. “i cant believe i’m doing this,” he mutters underneath his breath, although you can hear him and it makes you laugh.

“doing what?” your nose scrunches, as you observe his stance. oh no, are things going to get awkward now?

“i like you… like- a lot,” he pauses, “… and maybe- if you want- i’d like it if we tried. if we can be together because that’s all i want and i know that’s all you want. our friendship was brief, i know- and it might be even shorter after me saying this to you- but none of it matters. even if you and i aren’t meant to be, i was eternally grateful to have met you… i still am, and i think i forever will be.”

your smile lights up with every word that escapes the beautiful man’s lips. he has so much to say and you think he still has more. although you know the answer to his upcoming question.

“you understand me. in ways i never even thought of. you’ve helped me escape my shell and you’ve helped me when i never even knew i needed help. our time had been short, yet i still long to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. you understand me and my feelings, and my heart, and my soul with every fiber in your being and i don’t know how much more i can handle. please, i want to create more memories with you. but i want to create them as a couple. [y/n], will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

jaehyun has truly never talked as much as he did that night. and you enjoyed every moment of it. with the whistling of the winter wind, the hot air escaping his lips, and the thumping sound of your heart, you knew the answer. you knew the answer when you first met, as if you knew this was going to happen.

jaehyun feels as though he was going to cry. he had never had a moment like this happen to him ever. his feelings were just too overwhelming and he didn’t no how much longer he could last. he’s looking down at the ground once more, and he hears you step closer to him. you cup the side of his face to finally catch a glimpse of him. and in that moment, he never realized how undeniably in love with you he was. every stare, every touch, and every word has meanings he will never understand. his feelings are overwhelmed in that moment. he remembers.

and it’s in that moment that he will cherish you, your relationship, and the late winter nights as you close the gap you oh-so needed to close.

you had both understood everything the other person wanted and words didn’t even have to be exchanged.

you had understood the underlying feelings you had stowed away from the man since you first met.

jaehyun understood the true meaning of life, because he now had you.

[operationslipperypuppet]

Jolene and Cobb had a conversation about death, the night before he left for the astral plane. He made his intentions clear - that he would never outright plan to die, but he would allow it to happen if it had to. And that she wasn’t to try to bring him back. He was ready to go.

Jolene made a deal then, with Melora. That if any of her people died away from home, and their souls were unwilling to be resurrected in any way, their bodies would be sent to the GrandMaw Tree. She’d take it from there. There was no discussion of details or logistics, but she knew it would work if it had to.

She felt it, when Cobb passed. It was a deep feeling within her gut, it impacted her as though she had been punched. But she also felt his relief. She raced to the GrandMaw Tree, tears in her eyes, knowing exactly what she’d find. She had never wanted to be wrong more.

A few days later, when she’d been able to communicate with Moonshine, and after Hardwon had arrived, shaking, at the doorway to her stump, sobbed into her arms for three hours, then promptly announced he’d be living in the crashed Stormborn but to not talk to him, she knew what she had to do with the body.

Burial ceremonies aren’t a thing at the Crick. It’s usually between the dead person and their best friend, deemed at some point during life. Many people choose to incorporate themselves back into the cycle, and allow the magic of the Crick to do its thing in decomposing their body.

Jolene was that person for Cobb. She knew what he wanted. She grabbed Big Bev, knowing her grandson wouldn’t bear to miss this, and dragged Hardwon out of his ship to assist. “Just this once, big guy. Then you can go about your mopin’ business.”

They walked in silence, the dragon carrying the body, MawMaw making sure they weren’t followed.

Jolene picked a spot in the Western Crick. There was a large group of mushrooms, circular and somehow deliberate, right where Cobb had told Jolene was the spot Marabelle had died. She knew it was perfect.

When Big Bev placed the body near the ground, the mushrooms reacted immediately. Reaching out, grabbing at it. The motley crew watched as it was overtaken and disappeared completely. One by one, they dispersed. Hardwon was first and fastest, Big Bev when he got the nod from MawMaw, the possum when she decided her mother would need more time, alone.

Jolene stood, tears refusing to fall, for hours. When a tiny plant sprouted from the center of the mushrooms, she finally made her retreat.

A week later, a single stalk of corn had sprung up in the mushroom garden. Jolene would smile sadly whenever she passed it. Content that while her sister and best friend may not have been able to grow old together, they could cause something to grow. Together.

[maxedry-art]

Finaglc animatic!!

Tw: suicide